A drop of blood. Just one; rolled down the side of her face, And that one drop, was enough to wake her. She opened her eyes as if she was a new born child. With her surroundings blurred and her hearing muffled, she lifted her head off of the dash board, holding the side of her head, so that no more blood would trickle out.
Her sight cleared as she relaxed back in to the seat, finding herself in her car; her now beaten up, smouldering wreckage of a car.
“Hello?” she called out, although now being able to see herself, and the cars interior, a vast fog bank had filled the outside, making it impossible to tell where she was. But she felt, that she had always been the person who looked on the bright side; at least, that’s what she was doing now.
Her eyes flicked to the roof, to see that the fog had not only covered up the sides, front and back of the car, but above it too. Her eyes flashed back to the dash board. A thick oozing red of blood now dried, peeled and cracked on it.
Noticing the blood brought to her the scent of copper, and a dizzy feeling that there was too much blood in the car; so much, that it wasn’t only her blood.
She reached down to her left side to the seat belt buckle, and as she struggled to unclip herself; a faint moaning came from the back seat, and a sharp relaying of pain was forcing its way in to her right side.
She clamped her hand down on to the pained area, forcing pressure to the blood soaked area. She raised her hand up to see it was soaked red with her own blood. She pressed her hand back down again, this time to feel the wounded area.
She pulled on something that was trapped in her side. Worse pain split up her side, down her arm, and through her leg as she discovered the sharp implement in her leg was a pen knife, thin and sharp, but with no more than 5 inches in the blades length.
The moans continued from behind her, but she continued to ignore them, she took the knife and cut the stubborn seat belt open, finally freeing her from her seat. Now she was free, she had even decided on her next task, finding out who she was. She looked over to the other side of the cars dash board, and then to the glove compartment box. She carefully slid over to the other side of the car, as the moans behind her worsened.
She only managed to get half way between the seats till the pain returned and blood began to trickle out again. She slid back to her seat and remembered something, not who she was or how she got in to this situation, but something she learnt when she was younger; about bandaging up wounds and putting pressure on it to help stop the bleeding.
On her person right now, she had: A stained red, frilly white blouse, jeans with empty pockets and a rip down the same side as her wound. Not forgetting the small pen knife that she tightened and tightened in her grasp.
The moans returned with a snarling noise that now sounded louder than before. So she made the decision to turn around. And as she did, another feeling came to her, not pain, but fear and anxiety. In the back seat of her car was a man, who was more of a boy. He looked about 19 years old, and had the scent of alcohol, and insanity lingering on him.
He wore a cheap woollen zip up hooded jumper, and tatty jeans; his general appearance gave her the idea that he had a hard life, or that he had been struggling with things lately. So much so that he had been forced to resort to trying to rob her by hiding in the back of her car and waiting for her to get in, and wait till she was in a secluded area before attacking.
At that moment she threw caution to the wind and gingerly reached back, now ignoring her own pain, and pulled the hooded jumper off of his unconscious, but still moaning body, and tied it as tightly as she could pull around her waist, making sure she bundled up more of the fabric over the wounded area. By the way the wound looked before she tied on the jumper, it might have been infected.
She reached over to the other side of the car again to pull herself over. The pain sent more shocked splits up her body, but still she pushed on to achieve her goal. To her, she seemed like the kind of person to push herself to the limits, no matter the risk or the circumstances. Through her determination, she practically slithered over to the other seat drenched in her own sweat.
She sat in the seat, took knife in hand and plunged it in to the key hold. After a few minutes of what seemed like an hour of twisting and jerking it in the key lock, she swiftly kicked at the compartment popping it open spilling out most of it contents that turned out to be papers.
Upon further inspection of the compartment, she found a wallet, a phone, papers about court cases, and a small hand gun with 4 bullets remaining in it.
And no spares.
Her head flicked back to the small pile of court cases, and started to flick through them more carefully, one by one, until she came across one about a boy, 16 not 19, called Malcolm North, a troubled young boy who she was prosecuting against for attempting to kill his step father who had been abusing him whilst under the influence of alcohol. Her eyes then flicked to the back seat of her car and made the assumption that based on the photo, this boy lying in the back of her car was Malcolm North.
Her eyes opened wide, as if she came to a realisation. She was a lawyer, a prosecutor in law and she was against this boy, she might have come close to getting him put away, so maybe that lead to the incident she was stuck in now. She placed the stack carefully on the dash board and opened the wallet, inside was a driver’s licence, a bank card, and a picture of her with people surrounding a cake with writing printed on it. It read:
Congratulations and good luck,
To the future lawyers of 2009.
Her eyes flicked over to the phone, but sighed when she found out there was no signal. She was still trapped. But she was making progress, and now she had a weapon to protect herself with, just in case Malcolm woke up.
The name on the driver’s license was Eleanor Dawson. Now she knew who she was she had to make a plan. At that moment a mumbling came from behind her, she couldn’t understand fully, but it sounded as if he was saying:
“You stupid crazy bitch… I’ll… I’ll fucking kill you” which was followed by a series of coughing and pained moans. She checked her wound, the pain worsened as she realised that there was an infection. She had been cut by a rusted knife, rust that had been left in her wound, and caused it to start swelling up with something she didn’t wish to think about.
She checked back to see if the knife was still intact from her previous attempt to crack open the compartment, but the pressure she put on it had forced it to snap at an odd angle most way down the blade. Eleanor’s eyes peered over the steering wheel, but the key that was in the ignition was bent. Her only use of escape was gone and she needed a new way out.
Sweat poured harder and harder down her head and she began to cry. Cry and curse. Cry and curse and at the point of screaming; laughed at the situation. The moans had been silent in the back for a while, now creaking and turning noises came from the boy who fucked up her life.
He was awake. And she was out of time.
She picked up the gun, and as hard as she could, slung her arm forward in to the front wind screen. The window cracked straight through the middle, but her brute strength and force alone were not enough to break it, she needed something stronger, something that would be sure to free her. As she rose the gun again to lash out at the wind screen a hand heavily descended on her shoulder.
She screamed as she dropped the gun down in to her lap, and she recoiled on to the floor of the car. Her hands flailed frantically about the car in a desperate attempt to find something to fend of her attacker.
“You fucking miserable bitch! How could you do this to me? I’ll fucking kill you!” he slung towards her wrapping his arms around her neck, as he went. She looked at him to see his leg was injured, probably from something in the back of the car, and took this as an opportunity to gain the upper hand. She threw her leg up in to his stomach and dug her thumb in to the injured area, forcing him in to the back of the car. She got on to her knees and screamed at him.
“I’m gonna do to you what you did to me you fucking psychopath!” She grabbed the remaining part of the knife off of the floor and dug it in to his side, giving them an identical wound. He yelped loudly, the pain he felt must have been antagonising.
She picked up the gun one last time, pointed it at him, and then by some confusing decision, turned around and shot twice at the wind screen. It shattered completely as she ducked out of the way of falling glass. Ignoring her stab wound, Eleanor kicked Malcolm square in the jaw and climbed out of the window hole.
She was free.
The outside of the car was worse than she envisioned. Not just simple damage, but the fact of the matter was that there was smoke spewing out of its mouth-like engine under the hood. The body of the car had been wrapped around a large oak tree, and thick dense smog enticed almost all of her senses.
Eleanor lay against the front left wheel of the car, just to catch her breath, just so she could remember her mission; her job now was not law, it was to survive. A large crunching sound came from inside the car. Malcolm, was following after her, and now things had taken a step in to being too close for comfort.
She got up on to her knees and slowly, but surely got up to her feet. Running was going to be an impossible venture for her right now, the only thing she could do was limp to freedom. Limp to safety. Limp to civilisation. Eleanor pressed her hand to her side in another desperate attempt to stop the blood from seeping out of her, although now that she knew it was infected, she needed to get to a hospital.
She tried to limp over to other trees surrounding her, but even limping put too much pressure on her leg for her to manage getting anywhere, but still she decided to push on, even if it meant having to drag herself to somewhere safe. All she cared about now was getting away from that monster. She turned back, only to be surprised that she could no longer see the car, and that she had escaped the densest part of the smog, but now she found herself in a small wooded area, the most of the smog was gone, and she had a slight visionary path; but Eleanor Dawson have a long way to go.
From behind her came large crunching foot steps along the ground. Malcolm hadn’t given up yet, he was still determent to catch up to her, and if he did she didn’t want to know what was going to happen next. She pressed her hand back to her side and gasped in terror, as the sudden realisation came to her that she had dropped the gun somewhere in the smog she had just left behind. There was no chance of finding it, not even a chance. It was even less likely with him right behind her. Eleanor turned back so that she was facing forward and continued to press on.
The sharp pain in her side was now nothing more than a tingling, as if small spiders were crawling around inside her chest, slowly breaking out if tiny bundles. This was all well and good; however, Eleanor still did not know where she was or where she was going, so her brave decision to go straight in one direction, careless of where she ended up, was a risky one.
She stumbled over a large tree root, and then fell full on to the dirty floor beneath her. The floor was covered in lumps and bumps, that’s she knew were just outgrown roots and pinecones, but it felt now like she had landed on a spikey fence. On top of this, something she had fallen was now stuck in the wound in her side. Eleanor pulled a small stick out, luckily it was only scraping the sides of her wound, but she would have been even more surprised if there was nothing in her cratered side at all.
She lay back on the ground, breathing heavily, trying and failing to find the strength to continue pressing forward, with the only motivating she had being the footsteps, crunching in the dead leaves around her, that seemed to be getting louder and louder.
Her eyes flickered open at the sound of a gunshot in the distance. It was a noised that rang in her head, as if she were sitting inside of a church bell that was striking on a wedding day.
And then it hit her.
The gun had only four bullets, no spares. One was fired just a moment ago to be a warning, as if this had become a cynical game on cat and mouse. Another two bullets were used by her to break open the car windscreen.
That left Malcolm with only one bullet. But one bullet was still enough to kill her. Eleanor got back up, leaning on the tree for support as she went, whilst scanning the area with her eyes. The ground, although foggy as hell, was partially visible; which was all that she needed.
The foot steps got louder and louder, until she realised that Malcolm was just a few trees away. She flinched at the thought that he was behind her and hastily looked around for something to defend herself with. What she found was perfect. She found a rock of modest size and weight, and a thick, but relatively light branch from a tree, which she could beat him with, or use as a walking stick.
She kept her back to the tree as she turned her head round slowly to see a hunched over Malcolm, cradling his side with one arm, and clutching hold of the gun with the other. This was her only moment so she needed to make it count. Eleanor flung the rock diagonally from her, and watched as Malcolm limped in the direction of the rock.
For jus a second, he stood still, held the gun in the direction of the rock and fired his last bullet. She was rejoicing at the site of this, but even more so at what she heard next.
“Come on you stupid bitch! That was your only warning shot! I’ve got one bullet left and it’s got your name all over it!” he cried this at the top of his lungs, “Come out and face me! Stop being such a coward!”
At this moment she took what he said in to consideration, and charged at him head on, raising the stick above her head, and bringing it down on his. The forced blow took him down on to his knees, and a second took him down to the floor.
He wasn’t dead, just knocked out.
She smirked at what she had just done. She had accomplished something not many can say they ever had. She had survived. Eleanor Dawson, Persecutor in a court of law, had survived a brush with death. She looked at the stick, and noticed that it was still intact, and still usable as her substitute leg.
She continued with what she started; going forward, out of the fog and in to the light.
She kept going to find her salvation.
To find her freedom.
To find the person or people that would be her saviour.
As she got out of the fog, and in to the clear light of day, she noticed that she was in a small wooded incline just of the side of the freeway; that happened to be ravenous with fog. She noticed two police cars and an ambulance parked on the road. The police had blocked of the area, and the railing on the road side, that was there to stop people going off the road; was destroyed, torn apart, and crooked.
She stepped out of the trees, pressing her stick firmly in to the ground, and stood tall. She bellowed out at the top of her lungs, “help! Somebody please help me!”
Heads turned in her direction, as a police man and a paramedic ran to her side. Whatever happened now didn’t matter, because she escaped her personal hell.
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